


the sleeping plague

by oswhine



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6524125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswhine/pseuds/oswhine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara and the Doctor search for important truths and eggs benedict. </p><p>Basically Sleeping Beauty. (but not an AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sleeping plague

**Author's Note:**

> Told from alternating points of view. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Time had always seemed like an unlimited substance to him. He had never felt its pull, the anxiety of time running out, slipping through his fingers. Time was the never-ending ocean he swam through, never hitting land. But now it was different. Whenever he looked at Clara, it was like he was looking at an hourglass, watching the sand run out, grain by grain. Time was suddenly a frightening thing, something to run away from, a shadow cast over every day, everywhere they went. He’d said it before: she was only a beautiful, fragile human; she might die tomorrow, or in sixty years. But it didn’t matter. Each was only a blink in his life. She would exist for a small twinkle of time, and then she would be gone, and time would still be his enemy, because with each day that went by he would forget another piece of her: the way she tilted her head slightly when she was impatient, the music of her laugh, the way she looked at him. She would blur until she was just a name and a pain in his hearts. It had happened too many times. (He knew he’d felt like this before, but those he had loved had slipped away, until they now felt insignificant compared to Clara, something that when he thought about it made it hard to breathe, the guilt, the regret, the thoughts of the future, the feeling of loneliness, insignificance. The thought that she would one day fade into insignificance too.) 

“Doctor! Come on! I’m hungry, and you promised me the best eggs benedict in the universe!” There she was. Standing in front of him, a painfully young eagerness in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

She always knew. He tried to smile, for her. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

They were on the planet In, a level one planet, a blissful ignorance of sun-dappled cobblestoned streets and faded tangerine skies. 

“It looks like Italy,” Clara had said when they’d stepped out of the TARDIS into a back alley, empty washing lines hung from balconies crisscrossing the sky above them. 

He’d rolled his eyes. “Humans: always comparing unfamiliar things to the familiar.” 

She’d elbowed him. “No need to be so condescending.” 

He’d held up his hands in innocence. “No offense intended, it’s a helpful way for you to make sense of the unknown.” 

He’d told her they were going there because he had a brunch craving. In truth, he was hoping that, this time, this girl, he would tell her the truth before her time ran out. He would tell her what he’d wanted to tell her almost every day since she’d been only a voice that called him “chin boy.” So many times he’d opened his mouth, but said nothing. He was the Doctor, the oncoming storm, the lonely god, the destroyer of worlds, and he was scared. Not of monsters or the dark or death, but of a beautiful starburst of a girl who ate ice cream straight out of the carton and squealed and clutched his arm when she met Marcus Aurelius. And then there was time, pressing down on his shoulders, whispering in his ear that she could die tomorrow, that if he didn’t tell her now, he never would. 

“Where is everybody?” Clara was saying. “Is it always this deserted?” 

“It’s a Sunday.” 

Clara didn’t seem convinced, a frown stretched across her face. “I thought you never landed on Sundays.” 

“Mistakes happen.” 

She fell in step beside him. “So where is this eggs benedict place, then?” 

~~~

Clara squinted up into the sky, at the trio of suns that shone down on this world. He had told her about them before they left, talking excitedly, waving his hands. Each of them was smaller than the Earth’s sun, he’d told her, showing them to her on the TARDIS’ screen, pressing against her, his arm reaching over her shoulder, pointing and gesturing. Their combined rays were only enough to make it feel like summer year round. 

“An eternal summer,” he’d said, standing right up against her, “The ideal vacation planet.” 

But he’d been in a strange mood ever since he’d picked her up, the wheezing sound of the TARDIS echoing through her flat as she brushed her teeth. On edge, distracted. She’d wondered if there was more to this planet than he had told her, popping his head out of the TARDIS door and announcing, “Come on! Best eggs benedict in the universe!” She wondered if he was lying again. 

And now that they were here, feeling like the only two people on the planet, she wondered even more. It made her uneasy, a place so still, so quiet. She hoped that the Doctor didn’t know more than he was saying. She trusted him completely, and it hurt like she was a child skinning her knee for the first time whenever she realised he didn’t. 

She spotted a ragged poster, fluttering in the wind, nailed to a door, and left the Doctor’s side to read it. Her eyes caught the words _quarantine_ and _evacuation_ and her heart quivered. 

“Doctor! You should see this. It says there was a quarantine, a plague, everyone had to leave.” She bit her lip. “Maybe we should too.” 

“Mm?” He said distractedly over his shoulder. “We’re fine, Clara.” 

“But - “ 

“We’ll no doubt be immune to whatever primitive diseases they have here. Don’t worry.” 

“Ok, but how will we eat ‘the best eggs benedict in the universe’ if there’s no one here to make it?” 

She saw a muscle twitch in his cheek and he clenched his fist before replying. “Maybe they’re all just locked up in their houses.” 

So they kept walking. But something dark and fearful had settled in Clara’s stomach. She wanted to leave. She wanted the Doctor to go back to his normal idiotic self. He frightened her when he was like this. 

But the feeling dissipated for a moment when she first caught sight of the ocean. It was glittering under the light of the three suns, but more than that: it was not blue, like the ocean she knew, but a bright goldfish orange, a reflection of the sky. There was no other option than to run toward it, full of delight. She knelt beside it, looking into its depths, her hazy reflection. 

The Doctor’s face appeared beside hers in the water: “Is it worth it?” 

She nodded, inraptured. “It’s amazing.” 

“Come on,” he said, holding out a hand to her. “The eggs benedict place is just a few paces away.” 

But no one answered their knocks, and there was no sign of anyone inside. The windows were grimy with dust, the curtains closed behind them. 

“I don’t think there’s anyone at home,” said Clara tentatively as the Doctor peered in through a gap in the curtains, frowning furiously. 

“Let’s find out,” he said, and pointed his sonic screwdriver at the lock. 

~~~ 

He knew he was being stupid, foolish, but there was a voice knocking in his brain, telling him that this was his only chance, he would never again have the courage or opportunity to say everything he had never spoken, all the thoughts he’d tried to push away when she was around, not wanting another scar added to his hearts. 

As he entered the restaurant he nearly slipped on something on the floor. Looking down, he saw that it was the OPEN/CLOSED sign. Dust was clouding in the air, dispersed from where his foot had stepped. 

“Looks abandoned,” Clara said, coming in behind him. 

It did. A too clean, too impersonal room, not quite the way he remembered it. The family portrait of the owners which had hung on the wall was gone; there was only a rectangle of nothing where it had been. The checked tablecloths had moth holes in them, and there was dust, so much dust: the chairs, the floor, the tables, all entombed in a layer of it. 

A hopelessness descended on him. He didn’t know what to do now. He stood there, unfocused. 

“Doctor?” Clara’s quiet, inquisitive voice. Her hand on his arm. “It’s ok. We can just go back - “ She didn’t finish her sentence and her grip on his arm tightened. 

“Clara?” Anxiety now, twisting him, as he looked over to see Clara bracing herself with one hand on a table, face pale, eyelids fluttering. “Clara!” 

“Oh, I don’t - I feel weird, Doctor, all of a sudden, I don’t know…” her words were slurring together. 

“Clara! Clara, look at me!” He took her face in his hands, but her eyes were unfocused, her eyelids drooping. She was slipping into unconsciousness. “Clara, just listen to my voice, try to stay focused! Listen closely, because this is very, very important!” He could feel her grip loosening on his arm and he leaned his forehead against hers, anything to keep her present, make her feel reality. “You better be listening, because I’m not going to tell you this twice. Ok, Clara?” Her eyes were completely closed now. He could sense her falling farther and farther away from him. “Ok? Concentrate! For me! Remember all our adventures, Clara? From the very first, the monster in the wifi, the two of us, lit up like a target? From that moment on it was always the two of us, we were together, us against the universe. Mummies and Cybermen and vikings, but nothing was more amazing than you. Clara!” He was desperate now, clutching at her. One of her eyes twitched, but she was otherwise unresponsive. It was his two hands that kept her from falling down onto the dusty floor. He closed his eyes too. “ _I love you._ ” 

But she was gone, limp and unconscious. He gently laid her down on the floor. His fingers felt for a pulse in her neck, and he exhaled when he felt it, slow but steady. 

But still. This was all his fault. He had been too stupid, too selfish, thinking only of himself. He had been focused on telling Clara how he felt, too absorbed in that and his fear of how she would react to properly listen to her misgivings. She had been the one who’d seen the notice about the plague; he’d been too wrapped up in his own thoughts. And he had just brushed off her fears because he felt his were more important than hers and any level one planet’s, the almighty time lord, standing above all. She had said they should leave, Clara, who would go anywhere and get involved with anything. He should have paid attention. And now here she was, trance-like in his arms, in all likelihood infected with this foreign plague which he knew nothing about. He had no way to help her. 

But he _had_ to help her. He had to save her. But to do that, he had to leave her. 

He kissed her once on her forehead, tenderly, as if he were leaving a flower on a gravestone, and ran out onto the street. The suns were setting, sinking lower in the blazing orange sky. There it was again: the reminder of time, the feeling that something terrible would happen once those suns sank out of sight. He ran. 

The TARDIS, crashing through the doors, hips banging against the console in his haste, concentrating, pressing buttons, flinging switches, and then - 

The TARDIS wheezed once, then nothing. 

“Oh, come on! What is wrong with you!” He screamed at her, and then, quieter, one hand patting her console gently: “Sorry, girl, I just - this is important.” 

He could feel her sighing, settling; something was wrong. He pressed his ear to the console. The lethargy that had wrapped itself around Clara had got her, too. He ran a hand through his hair. _Well, maybe, maybe not all of her functions were down -_

The scanner was still displaying the picture of the three suns he’d been showing to Clara and suddenly he felt such a great, heavy sadness he thought he might drown in it. But there was no time for that. 

_The plague. In. The Sleeping Plague. Toxins in the air. Puts those who contract it in an eternal sleep. Medicine shortages leading to evacuations._ They’d arrived just after the worst of it. 

(The worst for them; not for Clara, not for him.) 

What now? The TARDIS was stuck. She would get over it eventually - she was so much more advanced than the inhabitants of In, she just needed a few hours, maybe, to build up an immunity. But Clara...in his research, he’d discovered that one of the toxins that was infecting her would kill the average human within an hour. 

She would live until the three suns set. 

There must be some of the antidote left in the town. There had to be. 

Down into the depths of the TARDIS, trying to remember where he put it, the machine that detected different chemicals. It was luck only that one of the chemicals in the Sleeping Plague antidote was quite rare. He darted from room to room, down stairs, up stairs, no time to stop and examine the rooms he’d never seen before (a room full of glowing golden butterflies, one crowded with lamps, one with paper walls and a paper floor that rustled under his feet and origami-folded paper furniture) until finally he found it, in the back of the fifth laboratory, a room he hadn’t been to in years. He entered the name of the chemical wrong the first time and had to enter it again on the way back to the console room, but finally he got it and burst out onto the deserted street again as the device scanned the area. 

And there it was: one single blue blip on the outskirts of town. He was out of breath but he would have to run again. 

The antidote was in a small cottage with vines growing up its side, only one floor, good, less places to search. As he approached the building he almost stepped on a bird, lying limp on the cobblestones. It was asleep. It must have fallen from the sky, he thought, looking up. The suns were hovering just above the roof of the cottage. He had to hurry, move faster than he already was. There was no time to grieve for birds who hadn’t received the warning. 

The machine was showing that the antidote was in the far corner of the house, which seemed more like the ghost of a home: everything meaningful had been removed, only the replaceable items remained. He found the glass bottle of antidote underneath a bed, rolled right against the wall. When he pulled it out the hopelessness returned, squeezing him in its grip. 

There was only one drop remaining. It was barely enough for the sleeping bird. But it would have to do. He would make it work. He had to have hope or he had nothing. 

Back across town, racing against the glaring suns. He tried to think of the most effective way to give Clara the antidote. A memory came to him: River, Germany, the Third Reich, his legs crumbling beneath him. A kiss bringing death. Maybe a kiss could bring life as well. 

When he got to the cafe he couldn’t see the lowest sun at all, and the other two appeared to be partly submerged in the sea. Clara was lying where he’d left her, a drooping flower, her face pale. It hurt him just to look at her. He knelt beside her and for once was able to look into her face, unguarded against his emotions. He studied her smooth skin, her slightly upturned nose, the gentle curve of her lips. If he ever had to give up travelling to stay with Clara, that would be ok. She herself was a universe. 

He uncapped the bottle and prayed, not to God or any deity, but to the universe itself, that this would work. His lips pressed firmly together, he tilted the bottle back and let the liquid dampen them. He brushed a stray hair from Clara’s face, struck by a thought as sudden as a falling star - _she’s so beautiful_ \- not a comment, nor a judgement, but an impulse. 

Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. 

But it wasn’t a kiss - he couldn’t think of anything but _please let this work_ , couldn’t feel anything but his dual heartbeats. There was no romance to it; only desperation and the knife’s edge between life and death. 

When his lips were dry he didn’t want to wait, watching her face for signs of life that might never come, so he sank his head onto her chest, right over her heart. He felt drained. Maybe he was coming down with the Sleeping Plague too. An eternal sleep, something that would usually horrify him - wasting your life sleeping until death - at this moment didn’t seem like the worst thing in the universe. 

And then he felt a hand come to rest on his head, fingers nestling familiarly into his hair. 

“What did I miss?” 

“Clara!” He sat up, and there she was, grinning at him, all dimples and bright eyes. 

“You look like death,” she said cheerfully. 

“Yes, well, you nearly were!” He blurted out. 

There was a pause. “Well, I’m glad that didn’t happen, then. Good old Doctor, always saving the day.” She smiled, but she looked concerned. Not for herself, death only moments behind her, but for him. 

He stood and helped her up, the feeling of her warm hand gripping his so reassuring that he nearly cried out. 

“Hey, I was promised eggs benedict. But I’m ok with the second best eggs benedict in the universe, I think.” 

~~~

As they wandered back to the TARDIS, happy to both be alive, Clara snuck her hand in his. “You looked closer to death than I was,” she said, but it was just an idle comment. She was waiting. Waiting to hear something else. 

“Yes, well.” He looked into the distance. 

He was just going to avoid it. She could see it in his eyes. He would just conceal it, like he always did. It wasn’t right for either of them to go on this way. She had shared more intimate moments with him than she had with Danny - he had seen her cry for every reason: happiness, fear, anger, pain - both emotional and physical. She had never experienced such a close bond with someone before - she could almost touch it at times. And yet they were constantly dishonest with each other. It was the thing that was most important to each of them, and they were keeping it hidden from each other. 

They reached the TARDIS and she let go of his hand before they could step inside. “I heard you.” 

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t even act like he’d heard her. 

“And I know what you did. How you saved me.” 

He was very still. She took a step forward. 

“Doctor, what I’m trying to say is, I feel the same way. And I don’t want to have to get into another situation like this, where Death is forcing us into it, just to say it again. Doctor.” 

She paused. He still hadn’t reacted. He could have been a statue, carved out of cold marble. But she could tell he was listening. 

“ _I love you._ ” 

Finally, he turned to her. “Clara.” His voice was quiet, only meant for her. They looked at each other and she thought for a moment that he would be too afraid to do anything, even now. But then he stepped forward and pressed one hand against her cheek, and he smiled. And, for all the time that they’d spent together, for every different smile she’d seen (sarcastic, pleased, smug, grim), she’d never seen one like this. It was like every smile before this one had been kept in check, restrained. But not this time. 

She smiled back and stepped forward to kiss him. This kiss wasn’t clinical or desperate; it was full of intention and the seeping out of repressed feelings. And Clara thought, out of everything she’d ever seen or done, all the wonders of the universe, nothing could ever compare to this: a kiss of survival and complete, relieved happiness under an orange twilit sky. It was more than a kiss: it was the very joy of being alive, and having someone to share that with.


End file.
